


The New Luxury

by swooning



Series: Gifts [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swooning/pseuds/swooning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura's on New Caprica. Bill sends down a gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Luxury

She could not imagine where he had found such a thing. Or, for that matter, who had told him it was her birthday. Nobody knew anymore, she had thought, and it hadn’t really bothered her. Just another day, she had always told herself.   
  
But the box had arrived when the supply shuttle returned from Galactica, and been left in her tent for her to find when she returned from the school at the end of that day. Wrapped in shimmering silvery-blue paper, with a deep green velvet ribbon, no less, the origins of which were also a mystery.   
  
Laura had placed the box in front of her on her narrow, makeshift bed, and now sat contemplating it, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders to ward off the chill that always began seeping into her bones once night fell. The package stood out against the drabness of everything else in her tent, not just because of the splash of color but because it was so very, very clean. The card on top was simple, in heavy cream-colored stationery with the ship’s seal discreetly engraved on the envelope flap. Inside, a folded note with just a few words in his own hand:  _Laura – I hear this is the new luxury. Enjoy. Happy Birthday – Bill._  
  
She untied the ribbon and set it neatly aside, knowing how rich a prize or strong an incentive it would make for some fashion-starved student who needed the extra motivation. Like any good teacher, she tucked away items for that purpose automatically, and had already assembled a treasure chest of them for her classroom despite the meagerness of the potential treasures available in the tent city.   
  
Using one fingernail, she neatly split the tape holding down the flaps of paper on one end of the small box. Then, after a moment’s hesitation – biting her lip, looking around furtively as if someone might be watching – she made a tiny tear on the other end. Just a small one at first, testing… but then nearly shredding the rare and lovely stuff in her childlike enthusiasm, only mildly regretting the bulletin boards and art projects that would have to do without a piece of shiny silver-blueness. Giggling, she tossed a few pieces of the shrapnel into the air in front of her, admiring the way the printed surfaces sparkled in the lamplight as they fluttered down.   
  
She could not rationalize wasting the box, so she opened it with care, looking curiously down at the contents. The object inside was wrapped in a square of white linen; it was a formal napkin from the ship, the seal embroidered in this case, something that must have recently graced the Admiral’s table. Or, she thought upon reconsideration, perhaps it was a remnant from the gift shop? What it concealed, however, could not have ever been part of Galactica’s official or commercial wares. It was strikingly unofficial in appearance, in fact, having no strategic or combat value whatsoever that she could think of.   
  
Caprican bone china; she checked the mark automatically, but didn’t need to, to know. With a band of gold around its rim and running down the fragile handle, and a traditional pattern of green vines and blue wildflowers spanning the outside of the cup. The inside and the saucer (which she found under the cup, wrapped in a second swatch of crisp, white, military linen) each bore just a single, hand-painted blossom on a twist of vine.  
  
And most importantly, it was all perfect. On no part of the cup or saucer was there a single chip or visible flaw. She was strongly tempted to pack it back in the box, to protect it, but even as she moved to do so she saw a second bit of folded letterhead in the bottom of the package. She pulled it out, unfolded it, and laughed out loud with more joy than the gift itself had even provided.   
  
_Laura,_  it read,  _you don’t put it on the shelf – you drink out of it – Bill_  
  
So she did, heating water and using some of her dwindling supply of “real” tea to make something worth drinking out of a cup with no chips. When her lips touched the smooth, unblemished rim, she was able to pretend for one precious moment that she was back on Caprica, back when she would not have stopped to think before throwing out a dish that had cracked, a garment with a stain that wouldn’t come out, a shoe with a broken heel. Back when she knew she could always get a new cup to replace a chipped cup. Back when there were still new cups.   
  
The new luxury, indeed. Wherever he had found it, however he’d known, she would not question the instructions he had sent with it. She would use it, and she would enjoy it. And she would think about Caprica every time she did so… but she would also think about Bill.


End file.
